


In Balance With This Life, This Death

by Jenni_Snake



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, M/M, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenni_Snake/pseuds/Jenni_Snake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his last drift, Stacker helps Chuck come to terms with his life, while Chuck helps Stacker accept his own death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Balance With This Life, This Death

The force of the blow and the angle of the tear had been enough to render his arm useless for the foreseeable future, Dr. Vyas had said as she insisted that Herc wear a sling. Much to his chagrin, she helped him put it on in a scene reminiscent of a sullen child being outfitted in a sweater. Herc had bristled again when the doctor put Stacker in charge of his codeine tablets, for the pain, and instructed him as to how and when they should be administered. When Herc had reminded her he was also in the room, she had simply closed his chart on the holoscreen and wished them good day with a smile overlayed on her mouth. It had been long enough that she had learned to tune out the grousing of injured Jaeger pilots.

Stacker made sure that Herc was in bed before caving to his whinging and letting him down two tablets against his better judgement.

"It's not such a big deal as you're making it out to be," he stated, setting Herc's glass down on the nightstand.

'You're not even bloody supposed to set foot in the same room as a Jaeger!" Herc objected. His head started to droop, and he had to shake himself awake again.

"Lie down," Stacker urged him, settling in behind him and helping him arrange his arm so he could sleep.

"You going... That wasn't the plan..." Herc tried again, his enthusiasm decreasing as the drug took effect.

"This isn't a good time," Stacker said, smoothing over the short hairs at Herc's temple, "let's talk about this tomorrow."

Herc's eyes wouldn't stay open, and Stacker had thought he was asleep, but he muttered:

"I don't want to die."

Instinctively, Stacker raised his hand to his nose. A decade of living with his own death looming out of dark corners, coupled with seeing team after team of pilots die had hardened him to the subject of death, but there was something unusual in Herc's voice, and it unsettled him.

"We already talked about this," he reminded Herc, his voice catching slightly. The weeks and months of arguing after he had first told him had taken their toll on Herc, and Stacker didn't like to remember it.

"I want to live," Herc said, eyes still closed, "I quite like my life."

And it struck Stacker that the words coming out of Herc's mouth weren't his own. It happened sometimes, the carryover of a drifting partner’s half-conscious thoughts, and he was both relieved and annoyed to know the sentiments belonged to Herc’s son instead. The thought flashed through his mind: _don't worry you coward - you arrogant little bastard, I'll do my best to return you in one piece._  He was going to have to hold onto his focus to avoid saying it out loud to Chuck, or worse, letting it slip through in the drift. Herc’s muttering continued, shaking Stacker out of his reverie.

“It’s a lie,” he said, “I don’t want my life, but don’t want to die, can’t die, should’ve died… should’ve saved mum instead…”

And Stacker wished he could do penance for his unjust thoughts, so he listened to the anguish of a young boy through the mind of his father.

\---

He had been right, of course, that he would drift just fine with Chuck, but he had hated the way he had to go about it. Never before had he had to create trust not simply by clearing his mind through the meditation that was now second nature, but through an abrasiveness designed to hide genuine emotion.

Now their mission had turned from impossible to suicidal as the Jaeger counted down to its own destruction. He tried to lie to himself, to imagine that the panic he felt didn’t belong to him, but despite his preparation, he knew it was his - he wasn’t ready to leave everything behind. Despite his words, his peace of mind was sorely lacking.

Roles reversed, he now looked to Chuck, imploringly, and saw the look of serenity painted across his features at the same time as he felt the acceptance of the inevitable tug at his own mind. Chuck closed his eyes, and Stacker allowed himself to do the same. One last time they chased a stream of thought recklessly, since it didn’t seem to matter now.

He fell quickly and landed on a warm day, summer somewhere, the sky blue, sun scorching, grass dried and yellowing in the backyard. He stood on a porch facing a brown bungalow. It felt like half-memory, half-desire, but he knew thoughts could do that. He turned his head to look at the small, white blond boy leading a woman to the last of four chairs placed in a semicircle on the porch. She bore him a remarkable resemblance, especially the eyes, her thin, fine hair tied back untidily on her head, and smiled up at him as she took her seat.

Next, he watched the child pull a man down in the seat next to hers. Stacker had to close his eyes for a moment to remind himself that Herc was merely a memory, even if he seemed so real.

“Dad,” the boy said to him, “you sit here next to mum. No fighting, okay?”

Herc smiled, and Chuck patted his knee. He jogged to the side of the house and pulled a very young Japanese girl, smiling, behind him. He had left a seat empty between her and Herc, and sat her down at the other end of the semicircle. She swung her legs and looked up at Stacker and he reached out to her.

Finally, Chuck came to him, taking him by the hand and turning him to place him in his seat. Stacker let Chuck put one of his hands in Mako’s and the other in Herc's and he smiled at both of them and squeezed their hands as if the gesture would help contain the uncontrollable bursting in his heart.

Chuck stood and surveyed them all, then put his hands out.

“Now everybody stay here,” he said and disappeared momentarily into the house. When he came back, he was carrying a puppy in a small blanket. Mako covered her mouth and squealed as he laid it on the ground in the centre of the chairs. It struggled to balance itself on unformed muscles, squeaking and whining as Mako cooed to it. Chuck left Max to test out his legs and ran up to Stacker, tugging on his shirt to make him lean in closer. Even with the picture of perfection that he had arranged around him, Chuck wore a worried look, and his bottom lip wobbled in and out of a frown. Stacker took Chuck’s tiny hands in his own and knelt on the ground in front of his chair. Chuck pulled his hands away to cup them over Stacker’s ear and whispered to him.

“What if I don’t do good enough?”

Stacker took his head gently in his hands and kissed him on the forehead.

“You will do good enough, better than good enough - you have done it. Your mother would be proud of you.”

A grateful smile pulled up the corners of Chuck’s mouth, and he threw his arms around Stacker’s neck, clinging to him.

“You did more than anyone ever had the right to expect,” he told him, embracing him. “We’re all proud of you.”

And he closed his eyes and held him as the sun grew ceaselessly brighter and hotter around them.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (The title was taken from W.B. Yeat's poem _An Irish Airman Forsees His Death_ which is completely antithetical to the theme of this story, but has such a lovely rhythm.)


End file.
